A Crack in the Wall
by PhantomPhiccer
Summary: What if the things had been a little different at the end of "There's No Place Like Home?" Post Season 3.


TITLE: "A Crack in the Wall"  
FANDOM: Once Upon A Time  
GENRE: Romance/Angst  
PAIRING: Hook/Emma  
RATING: K+  
FEEDBACK: Praise Only  
NOTES: What if the things had been a little different at the end of "There's No Place Like Home?"

xXXx

Somewhere above her in the trees, the screech of an owl cut through the gloomy silence. She drew her shawl around her, and they walked on in the darkness. They hadn't spoken in more than an hour, but she could see him silhouetted in the moonlight. His face was creased with worry.

The day that had started with such hope had ended with them stranded in the Enchanted Forest with no way home. The Dark One could not open the portal, and all the joy she had felt in uniting her parents had turned to foreboding when he had raised his finger with a sinister smile, ready to shut them away forever.

Emma sucked her breath in, and an image of Henry shot through her mind. Her hand flew up from her side.

"Wait! If you lock us away, your grandson will lose both his parents. Is that what you want?" The words spilled out of her in a frantic, fearful rush.

Rumplestiltskin's face softened, and he slowly lowered his hand. "My grandson..."

"Yes. Baelfire's son. _My_ son," she said gently, and then in a small, broken voice, "I can't abandon him. You can understand that. I know you can."

There was a flicker of pain behind the Dark One's cold amber-colored eyes, a moment where his face seemed clouded over with sympathy, and then he had turned to them. His light in his eyes was gone, and his face was stony and cold again. "You have a week to find your way back to your own land in your own time. If you're still here at sundown on the seventh day, we'll _both_ know what it's like to lose a son."

With a wave of his hand, they were gone, dropped suddenly here in some dark, ominous corner of the forest.

"Oh, no no no no…" She turned in a panicky circle. The forest around them was thick and black, and the last light of day was quickly fading. "He can't do this…how the hell are we supposed to get home from here?"

She looked over towards Hook, who was standing looking with worry at the last glimmer of the sun as it dipped towards the horizon through the trees. "I might know a way…" he began in a hesitant voice. "There's…an old sailor's legend…but it's only a legend."

"Well, unless you've got another idea…"

He took a breath and went on. "There's a place just off the coast near Hangman's Island. A three day's journey from here." He nodded at the stretch of road ahead of them. "The legend says there's a place where the wall between realms is…cracked. Broken. If we can find the crack and steer a vessel through it, we can get back to Storybrooke."

"But we didn't just jump worlds, we jumped time. How do we get back to the right time?"

"We'll need magic."

Her hands fell down to her side with a dejected slap against her legs. "But I lost my magic."

He looked across her in the moonlight and said nothing. He didn't have to. She knew what he was thinking.

_You need to find it again. For Henry._

She nodded, and they headed down the rutted road that twisted through the forest, ducking behind trees to avoid the occasional traveler or wagon on its way to market. Hours later, they were still walking, lost in their own gloomy thoughts. She was tired, cold, hungry, and even if she would never admit it aloud, afraid.

And then there was Hook. He was walking a few steps ahead of her. Occasionally, he would turn to her and make an attempt at a reassuring smile.

He didn't have to be here. He purposely dropped himself into the time portal to be with her. For a brief moment, she had been indignant that he thought she needed rescuing. She didn't need anyone to rescue her. Least of all a pirate.

He was handsome. Good with Henry. Brave. Witty. Exciting, even. But she had never taken him seriously. And she certainly didn't have romantic feelings for him.

_Did she_?

Then he had held her in his arms as they glided across the floor at King Midas' ball and again when she had watched her mother's execution, and suddenly that question seemed considerably harder to answer.

She shook her head to loosen the thoughts from her mind. She couldn't think about Hook now. All she could do was think of Henry and finding a way back to him.

She didn't see the rut in the road worn away by a wagon wheel until she had already stepped in it, and with a cry, she felt herself pitching forward and landing with a hard fall against the ground.

She blinked her eyes in surprise. The wind had been knocked out of her, and already she could feel her right ankle begin to throb with pain. Hook was beside her, his hand on the small of her back.

"You're hurt." His voice was soft with concern. He reached down and his fingers skimmed across the patch of bare skin at her ankle. She jerked her foot away reflexively.

"I just twisted it. It's not broken. I'm fine." She wiped the grit from the palms of her scraped hands and tried to stand. His arm slipped around her waist to help steady her. She took a tentative step forward, and another sharp pain shot through her ankle. She felt her leg give way, and she toppled against him as he caught her in his arms.

"You're not fine." He helped her back upright but kept one arm curved around her waist. "We'll stop for the night."

"I said I'm _fine_. We need to keep going," she said without much conviction.

There was a moment of silence, while he scanned the path ahead of them. "There. Up ahead." He pointed to where the road twisted and disappeared into a dense thicket. She could just make out smoke rising from a chimney and the faint flicker of light coming from a building in the distance. "Looks like an inn. We can stop there. You'll need to rest that foot."

She wanted to argue with him. They should keep going if they were to make it to the coast before the Dark One's deadline. But her ankle ached, and she could already feel her eyelids droop from sheer exhaustion. She nodded without protest, and then felt herself being scooped up in his arms.

"What are you _doing_?"

"We'll make better time if I carry you. Or would you prefer walking?"

She made a slight, disapproving click of the tongue but did not argue. Instead, she circled her arms around his neck with a sigh, and he walked on.

The inn came into view as they took the curve in the road. There was the faint sound of laughter coming from inside, and she could feel the warmth of the blazing fire as he pushed the door open and took a step inside with her still in his arms.

The round little innkeeper's wife looked up at them from behind the bar. Her face broke into a broad smile.

"Congratulations!" she said and came out from behind the bar.

"I'm sorry?"

"Congratulations to the newlyweds!" she said gesturing towards them. "Carrying your bride across the threshold! Such a romantic tradition."

Emma stifled a small smile as Hook set her down gently. "Yes, well…" he said with hesitation. He looked over at Emma, but she could offer no help. She raised an eyebrow at him. _You're on your own, pal._

"We were hoping to find a room. My lovely _bride_ is quite exhausted from the ceremony."

"Not _too_ exhausted, I hope!" the innkeeper's wife said with a naughty giggle. "Now, you two just sit by the fire, and I'll bring you some supper. I'll have my husband prepare our best room for you. Do you have any bags?"

Emma looked over at Hook, but he just shrugged back. "We were waylaid. By bandits," she said quickly. "They took everything."

"Oh! You poor dear! Your trousseau stolen!" The older woman clasped her hands across her bosom dramatically. "Well, I'll see if I can find you a nightgown. Although I doubt you'll be wearing it very long!"

She waddled off with another naughty giggle to find her husband.

xxXXxx

Before she hurt her ankle, she thought she could have walked all night long, but now that they had come to rest, she found she could barely keep her eyes open. The innkeeper's wife had brought them bread and cheese and foamy mugs of ale, and they sat in armchairs by the hearth, warm from the drink and the fire. Instead of feeling content, it all made her head swim, and she could feel herself sinking into the melancholy.

"Are you all right, Swan?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said mistily. "I…I just miss him."

There was a beat before Hook responded. "_Henry_."

She opened her mouth as if to say _Yes. Of course. Henry_. But then she frowned, and her mouth snapped shut. Did she mean Henry? Or was it someone else? Had seeing the Dark One's pain for his lost son stirred her feelings for Neal?

No. It was over. Neal was gone. His death had only churned up old, bittersweet memories. But being back here in the Enchanted Forest far from home, she ached with unfocused grief and loss.

"Yes. I miss Henry." She gave him a wistful smile and closed her eyes for a moment. There was a roll of thunder in the distance, and she sat and listened as it began to rain.

When she opened her eyes again, he was looking back at her with a trace of sadness and hurt behind his eyes. She wanted to say something, but he looked away quickly, and then the innkeeper's wife was back clapping her hands with delight.

Their room was ready, and she led them up the stairs and down a narrow little corridor. "Now, if you'd like," she began, leaning in confidentially, "I could have one of the fairies come and cast a fertility spell on your nuptial bed."

"Oh, I'm afraid you're too late for that," he said and looked at Emma with a smile and raised eyebrow. He reached a hand over and laid it on the corset of her dress. "My bride couldn't wait for our wedding night so we've got an early start on our family."

"Oh, well, at least you're making an honest woman out of her," the woman said with a chuckle.

Emma rolled her eyes when the innkeeper's wife turned her back, and swatted him on the arm. Hook rubbed his bicep in mock hurt.

"Such a lovely couple," the woman said dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. "And clearly so much in love. I can tell by the way you look at each other." She headed back down the stairs blubbering sentimentally all the way down.

Emma looked away and Hook cleared his throat in the awkward silence that followed. He pushed the door open and gestured inside. "Well, shall we, Mrs. Jones?"

Emma took a hesitant step inside. The innkeeper had laid a fire in the fireplace, and the room glowed with soft light and warmth. There was an old brass bed in the center of the room made up with a downy quilt. Hook came in behind her and they stood side by side for a moment. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and the soft pelting of rain against the window.

"It's…nice," she said softly.

"Yes," he said back in an exhaled whisper. He crossed to the side of the bed and sat uneasily down on the edge. He sat for a moment drumming the fingers of his hand against his thigh before starting to pull off his coat. She limped over to where a nightgown had been laid across the back of the chair and turned towards him. He was already down to his leather pants. He stood and began to peel them off.

"Jeez! Some warning, please?"

She averted her eyes but caught a glimpse of bare leg as he tossed the pants aside and slid under the covers. She was about to get in bed with Hook. Who was now, apparently, completely naked.

"Close your eyes," she said. "And no funny business, okay?"

He gave her a tight smile, and she thought for a moment that she had hurt his feelings. "I'll be a perfect gentlemen, Swan. I'm always a perfect gentleman."

But he closed his eyes as she undid her corset and dress and slipped on the dressing gown. She could breathe again, but now she was more acutely aware of the dull throbbing in her ankle. She folded the quilt down and Hook opened his eyes again as she slipped in next to him.

They lay there on their backs as the flickering fire cast shadows across the bed. There was a long, thick silence.

"Well," she finally said. "Good night." She rolled over and blew the candle on the bedside table out.

He watched the uneven rise and fall of her breathing for a moment. She was fighting tears, and it was everything he could do to keep from reaching out for her. "How's your foot?"

"Better, I think," she said drowsily. "Or it will be by morning."

There was another heavy silence. He lay on his back and tucked an arm behind his head. There was a moment before he spoke again.

"You told me when we met that you'd been in love once." His voice was low and soft.

"Yes."

"Neal. You were in love with him."

"Yes. Sometimes I…"

"Sometimes what?"

"Sometimes I try and convince myself I wasn't." He knew she would never have said these things. Not to him or to anyone. But she was feeling melancholy and weepy, and perhaps they were both too tired to stop themselves tonight from telling uncomfortable truths.

"He was a good man. I'm sorry." He meant it. They might have been fighting for the attentions of the same woman, but to Hook, Neal would always be Baelfire, the lonely, motherless boy he had taught to sail.

"I'd spent so long hating him." Her voice ached. "I'd just started to forgive him again. I know why he let me take the fall for him, but I can't help but wonder…"

Her voice trailed off, and even in the darkness, he could hear the tears in her voice. There was a sigh. He held his breath, and his heart raced in his chest. He knew even without her saying it, and it was a question he had wanted to ask a hundred times.

_Why didn't he find another way? I would have._

He wanted to tell her that. Tell her that he would never abandon her, prophecy or no. He would go to the ends of the earth to bring her home. He had already done it. Didn't she realize that?

"You didn't deserve that, Emma," he said quietly into the blackness. She didn't respond. There was only silence, and then the rough mattress sagged and shook as she rolled over onto her side to face him with her hands folded under her chin. She was unbearably close.

"Tell me about Milah."

_Milah_. She was the last person he expected to think of tonight.

"You must have loved her very much."

It was a long moment before he could answer. "We were cut from the same cloth, Milah and I. She took to a pirate's life as if she were born to it."

It wasn't what she had asked, but he wasn't sure he could really answer her. Milah had been in almost every waking thought for years. Every morning he had woken, her death was like a fresh wound, and he could not separate his love for her from his feelings of hatred and revenge. His heart had been hardened and locked, and he couldn't let anyone in any more than he could let Milah go. Now, with Emma, the pain of Milah's loss had softened and receded. Free from his quest for vengeance, he was no longer certain how he felt about his lost love.

They lay there together in silence. No one spoke. Finally, she rolled away from him. After a while, he could sense her breathing had eased into a restless sleep. But he lay there into the early morning staring up as the shadows danced on the ceiling.


End file.
